What It Tastes Like
by Sweet Valentine
Summary: When all’s said and done, it doesn’t change the fact that he does, at the least, want to know what it tastes like... [slight JE drabble]


**I've been meaning to write this for a while, but haven't gotten the chance. Here goes it now, though. Spoilers for DMC; you've been warned.**

**I don't own Pirates… Disney does. I do, however, wish I owned Johnny Depp… but sadly, I don't. : (**

_**What It Tastes Like**_

"Curiosity," she drawls; her voice is low and inviting. "You're going to want to know," she sidles closer, "what it tastes like."

He _does _want to know, and he tells her outright. Her russet, doe eyes are teasing and alluring, and they draw him closer to her full, rich lips. He brings a hand to lightly sweep across her smooth cheek, and he can feel her breath lingering on his own. He is so close, and his eyes feel heavy and half-lidded, but despite that he chances another look at her captivating brown eyes, and spots on his hand a mark which makes him panic. Instilled with shock and acutely aware of the dropping sensation in his stomach, he hears only vaguely the call of "land-ho", and when Miss Lizzie Swan speaks, her words are fuzzy and meaningless to him. He only dimly realizes she tells him that she is proud of him, for upholding her honor or some such nonsense as that. As she walks away, he is too alarmed to notice the gentle swing of her hips or the sway of her hair in the breeze (not that he normally notices that… because he doesn't).

As if Jack doesn't have enough problems already. This is bordering on absurdity, even for him. He inwardly curses his luck. He's a wanted man by half (well, actually _all_) the sea, a mythical beastie is out to get him, and now, a very distressing damsel making pretty eyes at him. He muses it is not good for him to want her (and not that he does…because he doesn't…only his bloody compass tells him otherwise), but nonetheless, he's stuck with the dilemma of _considering _(and only that) yearning for the soon-to-be Mrs. William Turner (not that he cares about what Will thinks… because he doesn't).

It would be much easier, he surmises, if she did not want him back (though he can't be sure she does… she's an enigma, that one). But, when all's said and done, it doesn't change the fact that he does, at the least, want to know _what it tastes like_ (just because he's curious… it's not as if he has feelings for the woman… because he doesn't)…

He continues telling himself that, as he watches his beloved ship be pummeled at the hands (tentacles, perhaps?) of the Kraken. He takes one more look at his compass, and is exasperated to see it point straight ahead, where his comrades fight. He thinks of those on board: Gibbs, Marty, Ragetti, Pintel, Cotton, Will…her.

He goes back for Elizabeth.

He will always remember the look in her eyes, when she spots him standing on foot upon her gun. He picks it up, looking at her deeply, and she understands and crawls to him, hitching herself upon his leg. He uses her grip to brace himself, and aims and fires. The Kraken slinks away, shrieking in pain as fire scalds its tentacles, and for a moment he breathes deeply. He knows what he has to do, but does not look at Gibbs when he says "It's only a ship."

When he hears footsteps behind him, he knows it's her. When he turns, he has to swallow a painful lump that has lodged itself in his throat, and struggles to face her when she gently tells him she always knew he was a good man.

And then she kisses him. It's everything and nothing like he imagined it would be. Her lips are soft yet hungry, gentle yet vicious, and her kiss is full of contradictions. She tastes compassionate and fiery and of spunk; she tastes sultry and innocent; she tastes of the sea and for some strange reason, bananas (don't ask him if he knows why… because he doesn't); she tastes sweet and bitter. He hears the clank of the manacles, and he stops ravishing her mouth, letting his lips linger in a placid smile while she vindictively clamps the shackle shut on his wrist. She tells him she's not sorry (he _could_ believe her, but smiles anyway because he doesn't). He smiles and smiles, and continues to smile, not outright, but slyly, because now he _knows_, now he knows she tastes of passion and hunger, of love and lust, of lady and…

"Pirate."

**AN: Constructive criticism is always welcome. This is my first POTC fanfiction, and my first Sparrabeth, so please, feel free to comment on what can improve and whatnot. Thanks for reading! **


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